Truth or Dare Read Online Free Page B

the foyer and stopped.  The new Rivka looked out at her.  She tilted her chin up slightly.  She really did look great—as good as Mary or Deirdre or even Pamela.  What if Lance really was interested in her? The thought gave her this scary but exciting shivery feeling.
         “Rivka, is that you?  You’re late.  We have only an hour till sundown.”
         Her mother came out of the kitchen wiping her hands on a dishtowel.  She had an apron over her dress, and there was the heavy smell of brisket in the air.
         Her mother kissed her on the cheek and gave her a quick hug.  “How is my bubele today.”  She stopped suddenly and stepped backwards.
         “Ach.  What have you done to your hair?  And your face?”  She ran a finger down Rivka’s cheek.
         “It’s just some highlights and a little make-up, Mama.  Nothing to get all worked up about.  Pamela, Mary and Deirdre did it for me.”
         “But you are such a shaineh maidel, such a pretty girl.  You don’t need all those things.  Besides,” she tapped her head, “it’s what’s up here that counts.  You have a good brain, and you get good grades.  With that you can go to college and have a good life.” 
         “I want to live now!  I want to have some fun before I’m too old to care.”
         Rivka’s mother shook her head.  “Fun! What is fun?”  She motioned toward the dining room.  “Quick.  Come help me set the table.  Bubbeh and Zayde Polsky are coming for the Shabbat dinner, and Aunt Ruth too.”
         Rivka rolled her eyes.  She thought of her aunt as crazy Aunt Ruth, and once she’d heard her father refer to her that way, too, when he and her mother had been arguing and thought she couldn’t hear.
         “I want to go to parties and have a boyfriend and...and...be like everyone else.”  Rivka carefully set out the good plates—the ones her mother saved for their weekly Shabbat dinner.  Thinking about a boyfriend made her think of Lance.  What if…but no, someone like Lance, who was a Miller after all, would never be interested in her.
         “But you’re special,” her mother put her hands on either side of Rivka’s face, “you’re not like everyone else.”
         Rivka squirmed free.  “I know.  But I want to be.  I want to fit in like all the other girls.  I want to dress like them, and act like them and talk like them.”
         Her mother shook her head.  “We’re different, bubele.  Accept it.  That’s why Tate and I wanted you to go to the Hebrew school instead, but you insisted. Now, hurry and change.”
         Rivka’s mother was getting the linen challah cover out of the china closet when the phone rang.  “Who could be calling so late?  It’s almost time to light the candles.”  She scurried back to the kitchen.
         Rivka followed behind her. 
         Her mother grabbed the telephone.  “Hello?”  She listened for a moment.  “I’m sorry, but you must have the wrong number.  There’s no one here by that name.”  She replaced the receiver.
    “They were looking for someone named Becky.”  She shook her head.
         “That’s me.  They were looking for me.”

     “Don’t be silly, Rivka.  You’re not named Becky.”
         “Yes, I am.  My friends call me that.  It was Pamela’s idea.”  She bit her lip.  She hadn’t meant to tell her mother that.  
         Her mother sniffed.  “That maideleh prietzleh, that prima donna who lives up on the hill?”
         “She’s my friend.”
         Her mother wagged a finger at her.  “Be careful, Rivka.”  She opened the oven door and peered inside.  “She’s not your friend—she’s playing with you.  I’m afraid you’re going to get hurt.”  She closed the oven door and laid the oven mitts on the counter nearby.  She turned and looked at Rivka, putting a hand on her shoulder.  “Believe me, bubele, that